Nothing Can Rescue Me (21 page)

“She went upstairs; she wouldn't speak to me; she's locked in her room. She looked frightful. She's terrified.”

“Windorp merely questioned her about that hat she saw. She seemed very shaky about it—where she was, you know.”

“Why shouldn't she be? Nobody can remember just where they were standing. She had no reason to notice at the time.”

“Yes, Sally, she had reason; she was looking at Percy, if her story is true, and intending to avoid him. I mean she saw Percy's hat. Windorp is naturally irritated, because he gets no clue from her as to who the person in the hat was. For instance, if she had been standing down here she could have seen Mason's hat, the top of Percy's hat, a suggestion of your hat or Miss Hutter's hat; not, I think, Miss Burt's hat at all.”

“Unless,” said Corinne in her driest tone, “Susie put the hat on a stick.”

“Or Tim might have stooped over,” said Mrs. Deedes. Gamadge and Corinne looked at her, and then at each other.

“Well,” said Gamadge, “I have been indulging in macabre speculations about yew hedges; but I confess I didn't go so far as to imagine people walking along behind them like gorillas.”

Mrs. Deedes ignored this. She said: “It couldn't have been Glen Percy; as he says, why should he leave his coat and hat down here under a hedge?”

Corinne fixed her round eyes on the bulging eyes of the bronze dolphin in the pool. She said: “So he could ask why he should have.”

Mrs. Deedes, wide-eyed, murmured: “Oh, but that's fantastic.” She went on: “It's so cruel; if poor Evelyn hadn't happened to come here for a little walk yesterday afternoon, they wouldn't keep on at her like this. There's not one atom of evidence that she knew a thing about Florence's wills; and even if she did, that's no proof—no proof—oh, it's cruel!”

“Yes, it is,” said Corinne Hutter, “and I don't think they can do one thing to her; not one thing.”

“She's not a bit mercenary,” said Mrs. Deedes. She glanced shyly at Gamadge. “Would it—do you think I ought to advise her to give Underhill away, Henry? Would that improve her position?”

“Oh, dear,” said Corinne Hutter.

Gamadge said judicially: “I don't think it would improve her position, whatever her position may be, to begin giving her legacy away as if she were in a panic. The will hasn't been probated yet; it isn't considered at all the thing to dispose of property under a will before the will's come up for probate.”

“But she can't keep Underhill going properly on the income from a hundred thousand dollars. Who knows what the income will be, if things go on as they're going? And it isn't as if she really cared about the place. What should Evelyn do with it?”

“What would you suggest her doing with it?” Gamadge looked at her gravely.

“Well, I could have Bill here. He loved Underhill.”

Miss Hutter emitted a faint groan. Gamadge asked: “And could you run it on the income from a hundred thousand?”

“Oh, I'd make it into a business proposition; a hospital or something, and farm the property. But Evelyn wouldn't care for that at all.”

“The wind is getting pretty sharp,” said Corinne, after a pause. “I guess I'll be going back to the house. I wouldn't talk to anybody else about Evelyn Wing, and Underhill, and so on, Mrs. Deedes.”

“Much better to keep it off the record just now,” agreed Gamadge.

Mrs. Deedes rose. “Please think of something, Henry. Please explain to Lieutenant Windorp that Evelyn wouldn't kill people. Florence and Sylvanus thought you were so good at that kind of thing.” She looked at him reproachfully. He answered, still grave: “What kind of thing, Sally? Getting people out of trouble no matter what they've done?”

“You think she's guilty!” Mrs. Deedes gasped it.

“I have no evidence against anyone. I must seek guidance.” He gave her a sombre smile. “Perhaps I might consult your oracle. Shall I try planchette?”

“You needn't make fun of me!”

“Certainly not; I'm quite serious.”

She looked pleased, “I really think you have powers. You did get splendid results yesterday.”

“Splendid; but not with planchette.”

“Direct writing is supposed to be much more difficult.”

“I'll have a solitary séance this afternoon in Syl's room, unless you think it wouldn't be safe for me there.”

“Not safe?” she searched his face. “Why not? Poor Syl's influence ought to be very good.”

“There are those African figures, you know.”

She said: “Now you're really teasing me. Those things can only hurt weak people—like me.” She turned away and went up the steps and across the level, walking slowly on her high heels. When she had disappeared through the arch in the hedge, and her stick no longer sounded, Corinne Hutter also rose. She disentangled the leads of the griffons, meanwhile addressing Gamadge with some hint of reproval in her voice:

“You're going to pretend to get a message from that silly planchette, and scare somebody with it; or try to.”

“Not at all. People don't scare so easily. I merely wish to invite my unconscious,” said Gamadge. “It responded curiously to my invitation yesterday; presented me with something I hadn't thought of for a long time. I might get a valuable hint or two from it on the present problem, if I tried.”

“I must say I never thought you'd bother with a thing like that!”

“It's a form of concentration like another.”

“I hope you won't concentrate on Mrs. Deedes. She's just floundering around. It doesn't mean anything.”

“Let's for pity's sake keep our minds open.”

At the arch in the outer wall Percy met them. He greeted them with his old airiness, or a good imitation of it: “We're all to be allowed down here without stir leashes; did you know?”

“High time,” said Gamadge.

“Officer Briggs has convinced Lieutenant Windorp that one policeman can take care of it.”

“Then Miss Hutter can go home alone, if she'll excuse me.”

Corinne nodded, and went briskly up the yew walk, the little dogs pulling ahead. Gamadge lighted a cigarette. “Did you have a word with Mrs. Deedes on your way down?” he asked.

“If one passes Mrs. Deedes one always has a word with her, no matter how much of a hurry she or you may be in.”

“I should like to bet you that she told you I was going to consult planchette this afternoon.”

“Of course she did. I listened in wonder and admiration.”

“I wish to plumb the depths of my unconscious.”

“I wish you'd dredge up some information for me; what have they been doing to Evelyn Wing? Susie Burt found her in their bathroom, very green, taking spirits of ammonia. I think we'd better get lawyers.”

Gamadge said: “I can't imagine what is troubling Miss Wing. Her control seemed very good. As Sally pointed out, or was it Miss Hutter, they have no evidence against her yet.”

“Are you by any chance fool enough,” asked Percy, rather roughly for him, “to read murder in that young woman's face?”

“Whose face do you read it in, Mr. Percy?”

Susie Burt came flying around the bend in the walk, called: “Tim, oh Tim,” saw them, and stopped short.

“Not here yet,” said Percy.

She walked past them, her head up, and vanished into the garden. After a moment footsteps sounded on the bricks. Mason came around the bend; the griffons, unleashed and at liberty, pattered meekly at his heels, stopped when he did, and sat down with their tongues out.

Mason's face, having lost its gaiety, seemed therewith to have lost all expression; it looked flattened and dull. He said dully: “Susie in there?”

“Yes,” said Gamadge, “she is.”

He glanced about him vaguely. “Funny, isn't it? We're all to be turned out of this place, and that Wing girl will be here. I wonder if she'd sell. She won't be able to get much for it now, and I'd offer her twenty-five thousand cash. Run it as a farm. Build breeding stables. When I think of the time and trouble I put into the property—and my own money, too!”

The others were silent. He went on, glancing at Gamadge and then away: “I know I've been a fool. I know Florence was getting tired of it, but I meant to settle down—make it up to her. I was fond of her, and she of me; we'd have patched things up, she never would have let those wills stand. Why should I have killed her?”

“Who says you killed her, Mason?”

“He says I was in love with Susie, and wanted to marry her. He says I thought I still had the residuary estate.” Mason's eyes rested on Percy, and flickered past him. “Even a policeman ought to know that you're not in love with every woman you take out to dinner. It was that damned stuff somebody put into Florence's novel that dished me; decided Florence to cut me out. I say it was done to cut me out, and get the residuary estate into the open market. First come, first served. Somebody's feeling pretty silly now.”

“Doesn't Miss Burt explain to Windorp that you were not in love with her?”

“She swears it. She swears she was in love with Percy but that they couldn't marry because they had no money. That puts her in a spot, and then she begins to cry. Well, she wanted to talk to me, and here I am.” He brushed past them; the griffons rose sedately, and followed in single file.

Gamadge said: “Those animals behave as if they were under a spell.”

“The pups? Oh, they adore Mason. He brought them up. He has a way with dogs and horses.”

They walked together up the yew alley. Percy went on:

“Somebody ought to explain to Windorp that characters like Susie Burt don't commit murders; people commit murders for them, and then wish they hadn't. Mason was very much pleased a short time ago at having as he thought cut me out with Susie. I feel rather sorry for him.”

Gamadge and Percy exchanged greeting with Officer Briggs and went into the house; Percy to walk on down the back hall and through the swing door, Gamadge to pause at the sound of Louise's voice, raised in angry complaint, issuing from the servants' sitting-room. He turned right and followed the transverse corridor until he found himself between the kitchen and the sitting-room doorways. The former was filled by a craggy form in white, its arms stretched out and its hands against either side of the door-frame. Under its right arm a freckled face—that of the local kitchenmaid—peered curiously forth. Two equally rocklike figures, the tall blonde housemaids, stood within the sitting-room door; they watched the distracted flittings of Louise, who pattered from end to end of the large, pleasant room, gabbling nervously.

“Zey were here on the hook,” she protested. “Two hours ago zey were here. Now one of zem is gone. Where is it?”

“Where is what?” asked Gamadge, and the Danes turned their heads calmly to look at him.

“Bobo's leash.”

“Corinne Hutter brought them back and hung them up just a little while ago,” piped the local. “I saw her.” She added: “And then I went back to the potatoes.”

“You should not have left the potatoes,” said the craggy cook, not unamiably.

“Miss Hutter and I walked the dogs in the garden,” said Gamadge, “and she must have got back not more than ten minutes ago. Fifteen at the very most.”

“And in zose minutes,” shrilled Louise, “Bobo's leash has gone.”

The three Danes refused to care; they had not been in their sitting-room since breakfast. “And don't get eggcited,” advised the cook. “It's notting to get eggcited about in this house to-day.”

Gamadge, if for another reason, seemed to share Louise's perturbation. He looked apprehensive, and put two fingers inside his collar as if it had suddenly begun to feel tight on him. “Mason is walking the dogs again,” he said. “They haven't leashes on, but perhaps he has one in his pocket. I suppose none of you saw anybody in the passage after this lady saw Miss Hutter come back?”

Five heads moved slowly from side to side; the local, who could not have been more than fifteen, looked highly amused at Gamadge's civil reference to her.

“Well,” he said, “at least let me take the opportunity to say again how splendid I think you all are to carry right on like this. We're most grateful.”

The cook said: “Least ve could do, our nice money Mrs. Mason left us in her vill.”

“Momma didn't want me to stay,” chirped the local, “but Corinne Hutter called her on the telephone, and I slep' with Mrs. Svensen.”

“Nobody want to kill
you
,” said the cook, looking down at her with benevolent derision.

“I didn't get any money in Mrs. Mason's will,” said the local.

“You ought to have something; I'll ask Mr. Macloud if the estate won't give you a present,” said Gamadge. “How's Thomas?”

Louise said that Thomas wasn't at all well, had had chills in the night, and was unable to leave his suite. He had a bedroom and bath of his own on the top floor.

“Has he seen a doctor?”

Louise said that Dr. Burbage was coming. “When shall we be able to get back to New York, sir?” asked the slimmer of the Danes. “I have my car; I would drive Mrs. Svensen and Greta.”

“Lieutenant Windorp will give you the word. Just hang on till the party breaks up.”

Gamadge strolled thoughtfully out of the kitchen precincts, and up to his room. He found Macloud in their communicating bath, putting things into his bag.

“Thought I'd save time,” said the lawyer, as he tossed small articles upon one another. “I've got to keep to schedule. How about you?”

“I must.”

“If you can leave by six I'll drive you down.”

“If I don't finish by six I'll never finish at all. I'm consulting planchette after lunch. May I use Syl's room for the sitting?” Macloud, sponge-case in hand, turned to stare at him. “What in the name of nonsense are you up to now?”